


Midnight Sun

by LozaMoza



Series: Moments [21]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Idiots in Love, One Shot, POV Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, because Geralt and Yennefer, missing each other, they still haven't figured it out yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26411965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LozaMoza/pseuds/LozaMoza
Summary: Set sometime after Belleteyn, Yennefer indulges in her need to see how Geralt is doing, and the realization is painful and all too real.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Moments [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806943
Comments: 30
Kudos: 51





	Midnight Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, they are both idiots. But I'm always hard on Geralt, so time to remind everyone that Yen is pretty damn foolish too

The midnight sun of Skellige rode the bottom of the horizon like a floating reddish-orange ball, the bottom of it just touching the grey of the cold Skelligan waters. Yennefer allowed herself to indulge in a childish fantasy that as the heat of the sun touched the water, the waves would warm, and the water would become a giant bath perfect for swimming. One just had to get there.

It was a silly thought, so unlike her, but everything in Skellige was cold. Too cold. She turned from the window to look at the man in her bed. _ Even the sex seemed someone tainted by the cold here.  _

Crach An Craite was fine as far as dalliances go, she supposed, but there was nothing there deeper than physical enjoyment, and even that was nothing exemplary. Perhaps she was being too harsh, but sex in itself was becoming more of a chore rather than anything else. She remembered carefree days of enjoying sex with zero attachments, zero emotion, and nothing but delicious indulgences. She had been happy then. She hadn’t thought to look for something in sex beyond that. 

Until him. 

The witcher.

Nothing could ever compare to that feeling of being with him. She knew that in Vengerberg. She knew that in Aedd Gynvael. It was scoured into her very being during their night with the bonfires and stars of Belleteyn.

She knew this, and it terrified her. 

She looked at Crach again, his thick red hair falling on her pillow in waves, his muscular arms reaching out to her side of the bed even as he slept. She knew if she was in bed with him he would pull her towards him, wanting to hold her tight in his embrace until the dawn would finally push him out of her room.

The thought of him holding her made her skin crawl. She hated being held after sex.  _ Despised it. _ She rarely even stayed in the same bed with her lover. 

Except one, of course. She never minded being held by him, and waking in his arms. 

Him,  _ again. _ It always came back to Geralt. Her defenses were down and before she could force her mind to block them out, memories of him came flooding back to her like the breaking of a dam: his white hair, his lopsided grin, his strong hands that knew exactly how and where she wanted to be touched. Her breath caught, her voice loud and raspy, and Crach stirred. She needed to get out before he woke in earnest. Grabbing her fur robe, she wrapped herself in the heavy garment before sneaking into the study, closing the door to the bedroom quietly behind her. 

*******

She had poured herself a small glass of Est Est, hoping the rich wine would stifle the thoughts of Geralt, but it had done nothing of the sort. If anything, she felt the memories of him sharpen, and hazy images she’d pushed to the corners of her mind became clear and precise, tinged with the sweet taste of grape and blackberry.

Half a bottle down and she had to see him, if only for a moment. She stared at the large washing basin near the cabinet. It’s large enough… It could hold enough water...

In truth, she wasn’t the most skilled at hydromancy. Her interest lay outside such magical practices, but she was skilled enough for a simple spell. Drinking the last of the wine in her glass, she walked to the basin and flicked her wrist in a subtle gesture. The porcelain bowl filled to the brim with water.

_ Do it now, _ she whispered to herself.  _ Do it now before you lose the nerve. _ Standing next to the basin, she closed her eyes and began to whisper the elder speech incantation as she allowed her mind to focus on Geralt. She thought about his hands, the way they would grip the leather of his reins and the hilt of his silver; she thought about the way he smelled, like worn leather and campfire and wild grasses; she thought about his face, weather-worn but handsome, with that crooked smile of his when he was thinking something salacious - which with her was quite often. She was smiling at the memories, pulling them closer to her as she continued speaking the spell aloud. 

The water in the basin began to ripple.

Yennefer felt a small rush of magic flow through her and knew she had made the connection. She hesitated for a moment - it had been months since she had actually seen Geralt. Did she want to do this? Would she be able to close this door if she opened it again? 

Had she ever even closed it in the first place?

She knew the answer to that.

She opened her eyes and gasped.

*******

Geralt sat on the decaying log, his body crumpled and tired. He looked gaunt, his cheekbones jutting from his face in a sharpness wholly unfamiliar to her. The skin under his eyes was colored a deep mauve and his eyelids were swollen. His hair looked limp, falling along his shoulders in matted clumps. He seemed to have aged since she had last seen him. Belleteyn, was it so long ago? How had he become so worn down in such a short period of time? Had he been sleeping? Eating? Was he racked with thoughts of her as she had been with him? 

Worry settled over her, thick and heavy like a leaden blanket. Her lips quivered slightly. 

He was currently sharpening his swords, the silver reflecting the firelight of the small campfire he sat before. As expected, both were pristine. Geralt never allowed his swords to garner rust or wear. Such callousness would certainly mean death to a witcher. His armor seemed clean as well, the small bits of silver polished to a pleasant shine, but there was no denying it was heavily worn. Yennefer noted areas where the leather had been patched, and patched again. He certainly could stand for a newer set.

She knew Geralt would frequently spend long periods on the Path, chasing the next contract and potential coin. She had seen him hungry and tired in the past, and would secretly relish when he would begin to put on more flesh as he stayed with her and away from the unforgiving wilds. Geralt had even once admitted that it was hunger and poverty that led him to her, as he and Dandelion had been fishing for breakfast when they instead caught a djinn.

But in all the time she had known the witcher, she had never seen him this bad. “Geralt,” she whispered softly, touching the water in the basin with the tips of her fingers.

Geralt looked up suddenly, shoulders alert. He looked around the campfire, his gaze stopping directly towards her. She pulled her hand away from the water. Could he see her? Did he hear her? Was he responding to something else? But he couldn’t know she was looking into him. He simply couldn’t. All they did was hurt each other. She couldn’t hurt him more.

In a moment of panic, she tore her hands violently through the water, his image lost to the torrent of waves slicing through the basin. 

He was gone.

Every part of her ached to go to him. Parting after Belleteyn had hurt more than she thought possible. But she knew they were  _ impossible  _ together. She knew something more was needed, and that they hadn’t discovered that yet. She wasn’t certain they ever would.

No, she couldn’t go to him, but she could help him. 

She sat on the desk in the room and grabbed a quill. Writing furiously, she finished the letter and summoned a kestrel to carry it to Gors Velen and Giancardi. She would divert some of her funds to artificially pad his witcher contracts. And swear Giancardi to the utmost secrecy. She knew Geralt. He’d never willingly accept her charity at this point. The swords had been out of desperation. Besides, he was never supposed to discover it was her, yet that foolish slut of a courier had failed there. But had he known she was purposefully inflating his pay to keep him fed? 

He would never forgive her.

It was a chance she was willing to take.

She opened the door to the frigid balcony and let the bird fly into the lightening sky. It would be dawning soon. Was Geralt watching the sky now, too? It was a comforting thought to imagine he was, and somehow, she felt warmer. 

Wrapping her fur robe around her, she contemplated going back into bed, but the memory of Crach in-between her sheets steered her away. She wouldn’t risk waking him to deal with his questions of what they were. They were nothing. She thought about the small trunk of clothing she had in the bedroom. Was there anything there she could live without?

The only thing she didn’t want to live without she already was. What did a few paltry garments matter?

She opened a portal to Vengerberg without looking back. 

**Author's Note:**

> In the books, Yennefer does pad his witcher contracts. I'd like to imagine this is why she started doing it. :)  
> She also sleeps with Crach at some point. It was never anything more than a diversion though.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are love. Thank you for your support. <3


End file.
